


Turians Pre-Contact

by Turianrock



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Civil War, Class Issues, Crimes & Criminals, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), Physical Disability, Slavery, Sneaky Bastards, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23965807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turianrock/pseuds/Turianrock
Summary: My story explores pre-Turian life before they come across humans. The story takes place a few decades into the Turian expansion into other planets. The civil wars recently have ended as they have to move forward on a united front to take other places. It will deal with the inherent issues of the Turian social structure which undermines their attempts to expand.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	1. The Crag

**Author's Note:**

> Krull= Turian equivalent of Moonshine

o

****

The thunder and lightning were consistent in the atmosphere of Palaven. Turians had diced out a rhythm to live by from the thunderous clamor. Musicians and loons made a living out of reading the jagged bolts. The average individual learned to punctuate the time of day according to how vicious the chorus was when they bothered to listen. The world was not unkind to them in all regards. The fiendish environment provided reprieve with a few pleasant days of silence and pale sunlight. Turians interpreted this pattern as evidence that their world demanded strength, resilience, and perseverance from them; the most patriotic ones insisted Palaven’s chaotic nature was born out of affection. They saw it as a grand crucible designed to develop them or crush them out. They prided themselves on having survived the challenge. The majority held a reverence for Palaven thanks to a healthy mix of fear and respect.

The principle city of their crucible bore the brunt of the planet’s mischievous character. The thunder often drowned out the noise of industrial yards producing militia arms. The rains pounded the streets to make them slick and falls became part of the commuting experience. They had decided amongst themselves long ago that the capital should reside in the crags of the world. The Turians never gave it a set name and only referred to the capital as ‘the crag’. They felt that the capital should reflect their eternal struggle and victory; the chaos of the crags provided a comfortable familiarity. The affluent who made the choice did not want their race to lose touch with the brutality of their world. There were other spots on the planet that were static, but they always viewed them as a danger to the order in the madness.

The capital was adapted to the world to reflect their adaptation. The founders cut the infrastructure into the granite as opposed to leveling it or building over it. The neighborhood grid was inflexible and unyielding as a result. The well to do lived in areas of the mountains where the minerals composing the dwellings were smooth, vibrant, and indestructible. As the gradient quality declined in the stone so did the dwellings and quality of the Turians. The population developed an eye for the gradients of Pavalen’s stone in order to mind where they stepped. They had become so savvy at reading the gradient markers that no other signage was necessary. They knew their respective paths with a glance at the nearest wall. They became so quick in their observation that they could narrow down precise streets based upon what unique pattern was etched into their granite foundation. The worst section of the capital presented deep cracks and fault lines in the stone. It was not uncommon for those dwellings to crumble or sloth off the mountain. The main residents of that area were those considered unaffiliated, runts, or undesirable in common company. Any Turian with the misfortune of being born well below the average height or deformed were denied clan statuses. The average Turian called them runts as they beat them. The unaffiliated were the ones disavowed by familial clans or had never been claimed by any. The bare faces were those who never raised above the challenge of Palaven to become civilized. The bare faced turian was considered the most despicable as they had refused to attribute to the status quo of the masses. They lived in the static areas of Palaven and rejected the authority of the Turian hierarchy. The matter was an ongoing agitation and the most recent volley of civil war had ended with too many bodies on each side. The hierarchy decided to let them be for the time being. The strife had remained regardless of the general public’s war fatigue.

The crime rate remained the highest in this area of the crag and the war raged on at the end of a peace keeps service pistol. The peace keeps circled this section of the crag like vultures. They had a reputation of enjoying the pain that pock marked the alley ways as if it were consumed by fever. They lived to keep the fever contained in the ramshackle structures, but on occasion it would spill out, and the peace core resorted to brute raids. It was not uncommon for swaths of the inhabitants to disappear in the night from their homes. The average resident on this side of the crag learned to keep each other at a distance because of it. The one silver suited peacekeeper they all knew would not hesitate to break an arm went by the clan name Toppler. He shared the dark skin tone of a vulture and had among the common tongue become akin to a grim reaper. He knew these rumors when he circulated in through the Krull dens of the neighborhood; Krull being the cheap hallucinogenic liquor of the masses. Toppler fed into his reputation with the joy of a child enacting an elaborate joke. Outside of his dump of a post, he was soft spoken among his colleagues in his squadron, and the brashness was repressed. Toppler only allowed his sharpness to show among those he knew were beneath him. He brandished his rank as one would swing about a knife among jackals.

The night he sacrificed his caste obligations began like any other. He had been sent to deal with a runt who had made a poor mix of krull. Deaths at the hand of illicit distillers were commonplace, but the runt had made the mistake of selling to a minster’s son. The matter may have blown over if the minster did not witness the son’s death which was whispered to be profoundly slow. The order had come down to make the runt suffer. A minster refused to soil their talons with another’s blood. It was one of their virtues as those ordained to guide their brothers. They leaned on the peacekeepers to deal with their blood feuds as if they could beckon them like dogs. Toppler drew the short reed because his officer was an old academy of the righteous minster member. The rumors had reached his officer of his effect on the undesirable Turians. Toppler dispatched himself swiftly to the task. He maintained his image among the destitute in hope of not being killed when he walked among them. The night he had left to deal with the runt presented him with a boisterous thunderstorm. The ones he used as informants where shut up in their dwellings to keep out the rain and noise. He knew none would answer the door in fear of catching the prying eyes of neighbors. He walked in the rain for a couple hours in a huff. The ones who enjoyed standing in the rain scattered like roaches before an exterminator. The status protected him in return for complicating his role as an enforcer. He accepted the arrangement without fuss normally, but this was no small matter he could fudge on his reports the following day. He had to follow through this time without delay if he wanted to remain above them. The rain became as frustrating as gnat after the first couple of hours. He searched the local haunts where the distillers hawked their bile. Nothing came of it as no one seemed keen on disassociating from their miserable lot as usual.

Toppler became anger with every passing second that he could not find his quarry. The dye on his face shimmered with platinum tint with every flash of light in the sky. The hue was of a soft silver that laced itself on his cheek bones in form of a flourished braid. The eyes where circled with the same pattern which accented his amber eye tone. The eyes burned bright like a stove top left unattended and threatened to engulf anyone they came across. He was about to give up until the storm passed when he happened to catch wind of a new den cropping up. He heard someone whisper that the only place to get Krull was at the house that recently caved in partially. He managed to get to the new locale without delay since the streets were empty. The only space left with a roof in the building was the remains of a tiny sitting room. He found a small crowd gather around a comically short Turian of 5 feet who held up a clear jar filled with a liquid that looked as if he had scooped it out of the sewer; the average height for a turian was 7 feet. The crowd had to stoop low due to short ceilings to fit in the ruins. The other reason was because the thunder ramped up again. The closer they bent to the runt the better they could hear. Raul’s voice had distinct whistle to it that would make the average Turian clinch their face in disgust.

“My disenfranchised brothers. Are you tired of this filth we call home? I know I am! Escape with Raul’s draught of dreams! I promise the other dens sell piss water compared to this stuff! Don’t be discouraged by it’s color for even the bravest drunk of it!”

The runt had a skin tone that appeared unable to decide on a pigment. He had blotches of blue and green swirling together all over his body. Toppler noticed that half of his jaw never formed because his lower face sunk in like a crater. He had heard of the charlatan Raul before. The peacekeepers tried to pin him down more than once, but he kept his shop on the move. Raul suddenly stopped his monologue when he saw the glint of silver armor in the back of the small crowd. He had nowhere to go in the small room of the dwelling. He decided to chuck the jar at Toppler’s head only to have it smash against a back wall with a crash. Raul hissed like a cornered snake in frustration then darted under the legs of his lost customers to make a run for the door. The buyers were already tweaked because they had not reaction to the exchange. They continued to stare where Raul had stood as if he were still their selling his psychedelic to them. Toppler had laughed loudly at the runt’s weak aim. He had been looking forward to a chase the past few hours. He knew he would have no resistance from these tweakers if he took Raul away. A second later the group realized Raul was gone then proceeded to fight each other for a small case of his wares.

Raul had made it about halfway down the street before sliding down an unseen slope in the path to slam into a wall of a dwelling. He swore about saints or as he put it “whatever the hell did this” in reference to his own miserable state of life. He kept slipping on weak arms while trying to recover from his misstep. Toppler walked after him and mumbled in frustration that the pursuit was not as fun as he had hoped. He was going to make Raul pay for his lack of entertainment. Raul could have at least presented him with a challenging collar to justify the amount of time it took to find the runt. He watched Raul struggle to get off the ground with a smug smile for a couple of minutes. He wanted to see how long it would take him to notice Toppler looming over him. Raul remained oblivious longer than he would have guessed. After a few moments of observation Toppler yanked him off the ground by the neck. He his back against the wall as if he were as light as a ragdoll. Raul gave him a look of indignation for being handled roughly by him. Toppler had never seen irises like his before because they were confused as his skin was when it came to a color. Raul’s eyes debated between purple or orange only to settle on milky compromise between the two.

Toppler loosened his grip on his quarry throat so he could catch his breath to speak. He waited patiently for Raul to speak first, but the runt remained silent. He figured the con artist was all bluff until he was cornered by someone bigger. Raul kept darting his gaze around to scheme his escape. The silence was his way with mulling the predicament over. He had learned young to let those bigger than him to speak first so he could get a read on the motives. The dead air lingered for several beats as neither were willing to end the stalemate. Raul kicked Toppler’s shin when he thought the peacekeeper was lost in thought. The move earned him a slash across his face from Toppler free talons.

“Enough of this! you filthy little runt! That was a cheap shot, but I would expect no less from your ilk.”

Toppler let his anger get the best of him in that moment. The anger rippled over his muscles like a tidal wave betraying his irritation to Raul. Raul laughed in his face in return for the slash hoping to wound his ego. He wanted the peacekeeper to be as unnerved by him as possible.

“Oh, I am so sorry. Did I hurt your piss poor excuse for occupational pride? I know of you Toppler, you make people disappear eh? You do not do shit. Come to think of it, I have been hawking my wares for months without you ass kissing peacekeepers doing a thing. I know PR stunts. I live and breathe them to survive. You are just a gesture of strength…nothing...”

Raul made his voice whistle sharper to sting his captor’s hearing. He had a way of distorting his face into an unnerving look of aggression. He had the effect of a snake unhinging its jaw to sallow a victim whole. Toppler glanced away in disgust from the expression on the deformed face. He tightened his hold on Raul’s throat to silence him he almost did not want to let him breathe ever again. He steeled himself enough to face back at him with amber eyes aflame.

“Save your ploys for the tweakers! They are the only ones who listen to your defecated speeches. You have made the mistake of selling outside of your place runt. A minster’s son is dead due to your swill. I have been told to make you hurt for this. To take something of equal pride from you”

Toppler enjoyed this part of his menial career of civil service. He liked knowing he could make others feel small like he often had. He drew his pistol with his free hand then forced it against Raul’s groin. He made sure the barrel lined up precisely with whatever little male hood the runt had. He hissed from the back of his throat for added effect. He chuckled when he saw Raul jerk his legs in fear. Raul swore under his breath at having broken the composure.

“Hey..look..look..I just sell things to make our brethren happy…even a minster’s boy wants to abandon this realm for another…Eh…brother…you are my brother as much as I disgust you. Aren’t we are united in our strife? As your beautiful prime arch says in the posters…”

Toppler clenched the firearm tighter in his hand. He fidgeted with the trigger as if it were a piece of twine. He made sure to make it obvious to Raul that he was doing so; there were no safety feature on Turian service weapons. Raul knew he had no more cards to play to get out of this. He had long ago reconciled that his life might be cut short by a pissed off official. He looked away from Toppler towards the ground wanting it to be quick.

“Well the infamous Raul crumbles. That is one for my holopad. What happened little runt? Did the big mean Turian make you piss yourself? Come on now…I was starting to enjoy this”

Toppler shook him slightly hoping to get a rise out of Raul. The charlatan refused to acknowledge the barb. He looked at Toppler with a deep pity on his face for a moment. He felt bad for the Turians who lived as a cog in the wheel. The minster would have sold out Toppler just as fast as any runt would if it meant getting ahead in their office.

“Do it already Toppler! At least in death I will not have to look at your ugly maw ever again. You spineless drone of a Turian”

Raul glared defiantly at the ground then squeezed his eyes shut as if that could prevent death. Toppler wanted to kill Raul to save himself from the wraith of his command. He hesitated when it came time to follow through with the threat of death. He wanted there to be a way to spare them byway of a beneficial arrangement. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one had wondered out of their hovels into the street. The coast was clear for the time being, but the rain was letting up, so he did not have long to act.

“Listen, Raul, as hard as that is for you. Get this through your small skull. You owe me. You are mine now. You can keep selling the Krull, but mind who you sell to because if this happens again, they will want me to drag your corpse to the ministry offices. I cannot spare you completely though. He will need to lay low for awhile until I send for you”

Toppler set him down gently on the ground which caused Raul to laugh in relief that his end was diverted to a later date. Toppler kept him pinned to the wall because he did not trust him yet. He allowed his mandibles to frail in excitement at Raul. He let a wicked grin cut across his thin lips. He put the gun way to replace it with a sharpened ceramic knife.

“What in the gods are you doing? I thought you were letting me slide”

Raul kicked at his shins again in resistance to the threat of the knife. He should have known nothing was ever simple for him. The minster wanted a blood feud settled by Toppler. He looked like a petulant toddler because his kicks were on par with what a young one could do.

“You still have to suffer. I still have to bring them a piece of you…now this is the one part I won’t enjoy of our little tussle Raul”

Toppler picked out one of the three digits on Raul’s dominant hand. His hands were surprisingly soft and were the one part of him that lacked blemish. He knew this would wound his pride enough to keep him in line with market expectations of the Crag. He gingerly forced Raul’s mouth shut by shoving his jaw byway of his lower chin. He made the cut with the finesse of the experienced. He had done this before in the past, he knew Raul would now know not all the rumors were fabricated. Raul stifled a shriek deep in his throat after losing the finger. He rolled his head to the side away from the blue blood spilling out of the nub of his former finger. He wanted to pass out in Toppler’s grip only to be slapped awake by him. Toppler stowed the finger away in some unseen compartment in his armor. He kept his eyes away from the site of Raul’s blood seeping into the ground at their feet. He used a wound sealant that they gave him for emergency field medicine to staunch Raul’s bleeding. He would have to replace that portion of the triage kit to avoid an inquiry from his office. He even gave him the quick acting pain suppressant in the kit. He forced it down Raul’s throat to get his shrieking to subsidize in his jowls. He hated having to use that to shut up the runt, but it was better than attracting undue attention. The med made Raul’s muscles go slack in a few minutes. He let the runt slope down on the ground once his pain dulled. He moved Raul away from the blood so he would not have to rest in it. The jovial nature in which he had approached the assignment had died out with Raul’s shrieks. He hated having to hurt those who were already low. He knew it was necessary to maintain their species’ survival.

“We will meet again Raul, await my next move”

Toppler left his side with that statement of certainty. He wondered if Raul even heard it because his head lolled off to the side. He was repulsed by the feeling on the finger against his side. He felt as if it weighed him down like an ingot of lead.


	2. Nebulas and blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader will meet Tashy who is a servant to a former Colonel in the Turian military. Tashy's life is about to change for better or for worse.

The day had been stretching along as any other day in her lifetime. Tashy stood outside her dwelling with her back against the wall. The sky was a tapestry of black that consumed the flashes of lighting as soon they were begotten. The sky was not unlike some insects that consumed a partner after they received what they desired. Tashy looked up at the sky with eyes of emerald as a child looks at the toy they were denied. She wanted to pierce through the skyline to find what lay beyond the veil. A scarp of dingy paper rested in her hand. There was a rendering of the nebula she had been hoping to see when she snuck out of house. The drawing was composed of cheap graphite which she stole from a suspect vendor. She knew they would not notice a couple of them go missing. She had more sketches hidden in the rags she wore. She sowed crude pockets on the inside of her shirts to keep them away from prying eyes. She shoved the scarp back into her shirt with a huff of agitation.

Tashy’s face had skin tone that bordered between olive green and tan. The skin was not dyed in the customary fashion of the other residents of her city. She dreamt of having a pattern of her favorite nebula on her skin, but she knew she would never be given that honor by her fellows. She had come outside to push the anger of that denial aside. She found a pleasure in what the universe had to offer during the clearer days. She looked up at the sky relishing the relief she felt in her neck. She was forced to walk with a bowed head in every other moment of her life. She stole moments to look up and dream about what her life could have been. She was a war gift for the famed Colonel Thadius who resided in the home against her back. The other bare faces had revolted against the rule of the Crag a few years ago. She barely remembered the civil war since she had lived with the colonel most of her life. She knew her parents were killed, but the details no longer remained in her mind. She felt around for those memories only to find the edges of scars that threatened to break open if she prodded too hard. The mind wandered to those tender spots when she decided to look at the skyline during her idle hours. She found that the wonderment she felt in her heart at seeing the stars would keep the scars at bay. The days like the one she found herself in now offered no relief in the skyline. She listened to the inner working of the dwelling in case she was summoned by Thadius; She would pay if she did not come to his call. She listened more so for the sound of a child’s beckoning coos. She was a mother as well as a servant of the house. The child kept her occupied when Thadius was too intoxicated to demand anything from her. She figured that the old colonel was in his office suite obsessing over his war memorabilia. He liked to reminisce in the violence of his former career in the militia.

The first years Tashy was conditioned by Thadius’s sharp tongue, rage, and even sharper talons. The days the colonel felt nostalgic he drunk himself into a stupor. He would entertain himself in his drunken haze by dragging Tashy into his office to mock her with images of his victims. He would force her face on top of the images all the while chuckling like a child as she struggled against him.

“I am all you have left now. Bare faced slag. None of your kind to run back to”

Thadius loved to whisper this into her ear during those moments. She shook her head as if the memory of that taunt would fall out. She had learned when to sneak away from inside the dwelling based upon what item of his past he was looking at. She learned that the days he looked at his medals he would drink while reading an article that berated him as a traitor. She hated that he was able to access the old news articles with such ease. She owed many nights of her face being swollen to those damned articles. The night his rage was the worst she received a broken jaw and a pregnancy. Tashy clicked when she spoke because the jaw had not mended properly. She hated to speak in public after the incident not that anyone cared to listen.

Tashy worried over the fact that the elder had not stirred most of the day and knew that she should have received at least one lecture by noon. She needed to check on the keeper of the house if she wished to fain concern. She knew by now what made Thadius more amicable throughout the day. The skyline offered no distraction from her reality, so she returned to the dim home with a brooding rage. The foyer of the dwelling contained a dingy clan banner which hovered over the only table in the house worth making a focal point. The other stuff was smashed long ago during countless drinking binges. The clan flag was too faded to know clearly what Thadius’s heritage claim was anymore. Tashy was told several times but forgot to memorize it to spite her keeper.

The child was not racing about the dwelling as he normally did. Tashy nearly called him only to stop with a flinch; she would not risk the talon for the boy’s sake. The boy could not have gone far in such a confined space. She set her concern aside to focus on Thadius as he determined what kind of day this would be for her. She ambled on towards the office door in the back. He never left that room anymore and his bed had remained empty for a couple years. She stopped as she rounded the bend in the hallway that led to it. She made a nervous clicking with her jaw as she found the door ajar. Thadius would never leave it open because he hated his son to see his pitiful state. She wanted to fade into the wall like a dreary piece of décor. She stood there for a few clipped breaths before entering. She entered as one does a burning building as she was never allowed in without invitation.

The room’s sole light was extinguished, and she had never seen this part of the house dark before. She shuffled a couple inches at a time into the room, afraid she would step on Thadius’s passed out frame, or that Thadius was pulling a cruel ruse on her as he had done in the past. She froze as if struck by lighting as she heard the distinct crunching of broken glass underneath her feet. She felt it scrap her rough skin, yet she was fortunate enough not to have punctured the foot. She stopped there as if the glass were a concrete barrier blocking her path. She felt her tongue move to utter Thadius’s name only to have no noise escape her mouth. Tashy clenched her jaw shut with the hope of keeping the fear out. She was rooted to the spot for longer than she was able to recall in later years. She was going to move further into the office, but once she had steadied her nerves she was knocked over by a small unseen form. She went down on the floor and hit it headfirst. A thunk of bone against ground broke the stillness of the room. She saw her vision go splotchy and a sharp pain rattled around in her head. She remained aware despite the sudden shock of the blow. She was accustomed to harsher hits from Thadius. She wondered if it was him while she lay sprawled out on the floor. She wearily moved her hand to her head to check for the wetness of blood. She felt the blood, but the more she prodded the back of her head she found no wound. She let out hiss of pain when she realized it did not belong to her. The small figure that struck her was clinging to her legs.

“Tashy..ta…mom..Da isn’t moving”

Graff’s voice ended the hush over the house and the silence that filled Tashy’s mind. She released the pressure she felt in her jaw with a pop. She reached down to pat her son’s nubby head. The spikes had been slow to develop on his head which earned him insults from the other children.

“Graff..I need you to go into hall and wait for me…ok..please do it…I will…will… help Thadius”

Tashy stumbled over the boy’s name as if every letter hurt her with a jolt. She had only recently acknowledged him after years of denying his existence in her life; to Graff’s credit he did not stop trying to gain her affection. She felt his weight leave her legs and she wanted to hang onto him awhile longer. She hated making him leave the room to be alone and afraid in the hall. She weakly returned to her feet which caused more of the blood to coat her hands and arms. She found herself in a puddle of blood that no one could afford to lose. She left it as fast as she could to stumble across more debris on the office floor. She made it to the desk where she fumbled around for a small flashlight, she saw in one of the drawers in the past. She found someone had already left it open for her. She had a hard time getting a grip on the light with her sleek hands. The light toggle was no easier to flip toward the on position. She swore under her breath and fought the urge to fling the light across the room. She managed to get the light to work in time to avoid the tremors that shook her body. She let the beam fall towards the center of the room. She nearly dropped the light when she recoiled from what the light had found.

Thadius had let himself become diminished in past few months of their life together. The body was sunken from a lack of proper nutrition despite her efforts to feed him. The faded markings on his face suggested a lack of means, but a discerning eye could tell the pigments use to be of the rarest quality. He was missing a couple digits on his left hand. A talon was snapped in half on his other hand suggesting he had fought back. Thadius was killed from an apparent gun shot to the crown of his head. A couple meters from his right hand was an old service pistol that he managed to keep when he was sacked; he had kept it near his person out of habit.

Tashy took in the details of the scene as one would a piece of art in a museum. She was torn between wanting to weep and wanting to celebrate the crumpled corpse in front of her. She was tempted to tell him off because he could no longer silence her criticisms of him. She wondered if he even got a shot off in the struggle with his killer. She had always wondered if the pistol still worked when he waved it in her face. She figured the gun was as much of a dud as its owner was. She knew that she needed to get away from Thadius’s remains. She leaned against the desk behind her as if it could ground her reality. She would not miss the abuse from him, but his protection was worth something; she heard of worse fates befalling her kind in Palaven. The peace keepers would love to pin this on her.


End file.
